Not Cara
by Auroraas
Summary: What might the Champion of Kirkwall's origins be? A/U, revised.


Your given name is Cara, but no one calls you that.

You're called Hawke, your surname, your identity. Hawke, who whispers to birds. Hawke, who begs the men of Lothering not to harm the wolves that lurk beyond the small settlement.

Hawke, who is everything a boy should be, stuffed into a girl's body.

Mother loves it, secretly, though she will admit it to no one. Papa mumbles to himself that you will never find a suitor, and if you do, it will be a half drunk pig. No boy would marry you, would court you, for you are not elegant. You are not poised, like Isabel, nor are you endearingly shy like Allison.

You don't even have a feminine name. What boy would want to court a girl named Hawke? Papa teases, nudging you with his elbow.

But you can be charming, when you want to be. You're almost sixteen, no longer a child, but not quite of age. This, you use to your advantage. You don't want the boys in the village, nor the girls for that matter, seeing you as you are - almost a woman. So you keep your mouth firmly closed when it comes to matters of courting, and you continue to become more and more of a tomboy.

Then, one day, a girl, perhaps a year or two older than you, appears in Lothering. She's badly wounded, and unconscious. Sister Dorothea carries her in on her frail-looking shoulder, aided by two of the other Lay Sisters. She is redheaded, clad in armor, a longsword and a dagger strapped to her back.

You are intrigued.

She leaves a day or two later, tossing a glance and a smile your way. You return the gesture, hesitantly.

You wonder what happened to the woman with the odd accent, perhaps a little more Fereldan-sounding than Sister Dorothea's, but still exotic.

You ask Papa about this when you get home that evening, tired from a long day's work in Mister Barlin's fields. He nearly spits on you in anger, calling the girl every name he can think of, harlot being the kindest.

Mother sends you and Bethany out of the room, and you can hear the sound of their shouting from the other side of the house.

Papa walks in to your pathetic excuse for a bedroom, later, his face softer. He attempts to apologize, but instead ends up drawing you forth in a desperate embrace. This is your Papa, not the strange man who seems to have been inhabiting your father's body for the past week. You talk him about this, he apologizes, and promises to explain later.

He never does.

Mother tells you, the next day, of how Papa lost both his siblings in the war with Orlais, a scant thirty years ago. You already know of his brother, but you did not know of his sister. Aunt Grace was raped, left for dead, and before Papa and his brother could get there, she passed quietly from blood loss. His brother's death was more typical of the time, Mother says, quietly.

"He was murdured." she hisses, and she looks so broken that you don't dare point out that Uncle Karl was killed in the army. He signed up to die, as Papa likes to put it.

A day later, the redhead returns, and you go to speak with her. She smiles briefly, telling you only that her name is Leliana, and she is going to become a cloistered Sister.

You never do find out anything else about her, other than the fact that, after dark, she practices swordplay. You've never seen a Sister do that, before.

You follow in her example, attempting to copy what moves you can see, and, during the day, when you should be working, you practice and practice until you're so sore you can barely lift your arms.

Mister Barlin is not very happy about that, not at all.

You don't get very good - your only strength is parrying- but you're decent enough, so that, two years later, when you finally are of age, when refugees start pouring in from Maker-knows-where, speaking of evil, dark creatures, you are prepared to defend yourself, and your family, if need be.

You never get the chance.

You know it's time to leave when two Grey Wardens, an apostate, and a dog enter the settlement, easily defeating Teyrn Loghain's soldiers and then proceeding to recruit Sister Leliana. You begin to pack.

You watch the odd group, from your favorite spot next to the well, as they run about doing who-knows-what for the Chantry and recruiting the Qunari prisoner, and you're shocked to discover that the leader is your age, exactly.

Eighteen, and a Grey Warden. Imagine that.

His name is Aedan, and she has deep blue eyes and black hair. He is very handsome, but he is tainted, shouts the Chasind in front of the Chantry.

You don't believe him, but you keep your distance all the same.

After Leliana leaves with the Warden's merry band of travelers, things slowly start to get worse. True, the bandits have been driven off, and yes, there are no longer tainted creatures near the outskirts of Lothering, but news of the darkspawn have all the refugees in a state of panic. They begin to evacuate by the dozens, a new caravan leaving each day. With the refugees go the merchants, and then some of the priests. Finally, the village is almost empty, save a few desperate families and a beggar or two.

When the darkspawn come, you are ready to leave. You slip your father's dagger into your pack, you grab Bethany from her bed, and you go. You abandon your parents, sobbing tears of remorse, you don't turn back. You and your sister sprint as far north as you can before your legs give out. You turn, then, exhausted, and you watch Lothering burn.

You wake in the early morn, the stench of ashes and pollution all around you. You shed a few more tears before you resume your trek north. Your sister complains, but quiets when you glare at her. You do not feel like speaking, especially to her. She reminds you of days spent running, carefree, into the surrounding forests, of playing among the ruins that lead to Ostagar, of mother and father.

Eventually, you speak with her, and she is more than understanding, hugging you to her. You both collapse onto the ground, holding each other and crying.

You go days, weeks, months maybe, hiking endlessly north, not once coming across a trace of civilization, before eventually managing to sneak into a merchant's wagon, unnoticed.

You're waif thin by now; you've been giving almost everything remotely edible to Bethany. Your long black hair is greasy and uncombed. Your sister's dress is in tatters you notice, and then, you realize, so is yours. You proceed to rip most of the length off of the garments, donning pairs of pants that the merchant has conveniently stashed away. You praise the maker for this, before you look to see what other goods he has.

Dried meats, some cheeses, fresh fruit... you gorge yourselves, laughing at the absurdity of your luck, and alternate sleeping and eating.

It doesn't once occur to you that the merchant might not be traveling within Ferelden, or at least Orlais or Antiva, one of the typical countries along trade routes.

When you wake one morning, the merchant has stopped his cart, the steady hoofbeats of his horse no longer lulling you.

You quickly, and rather luckily, escape before he takes notice of you, or Bethany, and you wonder to yourself why he hasn't checked his goods.

You say a quick prayer for good measure.

Your dark-haired sister has managed to procure a map from the wagon, and once you are far enough away from the merchant, you begin to study it. An elaborate system of lines marks the cities he has been to, so far. He has traveled north, you realize, tracing the dashes along the paper, and find that you are just outside of a city named Kirkwall.

"Where on Thedas is Kirkwall?" you inquire, and Bethany shrugs.

The Free Marches, you later learn.

Now, you think, is when you're supposed to wake up.


End file.
